by Stacy Henrie
“What do I do, Lord?” How many times had she breathed this same prayer over the last three months? But having Tex here was nearly as daunting as having no hired hand for spring planting and not enough room to bring four more orphans to live on the farm.
Looking down at him, she felt as if she stood before a precipice. She didn’t know if the right thing was to jump or turn and run the other way. Questions she’d stopped asking herself years ago rose painfully into her mind. Why hadn’t Tex come back for her that night? Had his feelings for her changed so abruptly? Had she trusted where she shouldn’t have? Had he loved her at all?
Even when his brother, Tate, had come over later that night and confessed that he and Tex had argued, she felt certain Tex would still return for her, once he’d had a chance to cool down. But the long hours became morning, and still there was no sign of him. Then a full day went by, then a week, then a month, and finally years. All without a single letter of explanation.
Now that Tex was here again, did she really want to know the answers to her questions? Could she bear to hear him say aloud that he’d changed his mind about her? The possibility made her heart thrum a ragged, aching beat beneath her nightgown. If he stayed, how would she keep the past from drawing away her focus? She had to remain strong in her dedication to provide a home for these orphans and those she would somehow bring to the farm as well.
She could send him away in the morning, ignoring the terrible state he was in. They had agreed on one night, and she didn’t owe him anything.
Or she could do the Christian thing. She could allow him to stay however long he needed to fully recover.
Ravena eyed his bandage again, her mouth pursed in hesitation. Perhaps there was some way to speed up his recovery, then she wouldn’t have to manage having him around for more than a few days. Grabbing the lamp, she padded out of the room and back downstairs to the parlor. She pulled one of her grandmother’s journals, filled with Olive’s medical notes and home remedies, from the shelf. She settled the book on her lap and began perusing the well-worn pages. There had to be something in here about dealing with bullet wounds and the illnesses they might produce.
The clock on the mantle struck two before Ravena found what she’d been looking for. She could mix up a special tea and a strong poultice from the herbs in the cellar, though her grandmother had noted that plenty of rest and little movement for the patient was also critical.
Shutting her mind to the latter advice, Ravena went to the kitchen, wrapped herself in a shawl and headed outside to the cellar, shivering in the cool predawn air. With the aid of the lamp, she located the needed herbs. In the kitchen, she stoked the fire and set the kettle on to boil. While she waited, she crushed the herbs in a bowl with her grandmother’s old pestle.
The sharp scent of the crushed leaves awakened her further and reminded her of similar nights spent doing this very task as she’d assisted her grandmother. And now she was doing it alone—doing everything alone. A negligent tear rolled down her face, which she brushed away. Tears wouldn’t solve her problems.
Once she had the tea and poultice ready, she placed everything on a tray, added a fresh roll of bandage, and carried the things up to her room. She was relieved to find Tex hadn’t tumbled off the bed again. Her next task would be difficult, making her grateful Tex wasn’t conscious. She had to remove his bandage, place the poultice against his wound, and tie a new cloth around his middle.
Uneasiness warred with her determination, and Ravena willed herself to take a steadying breath. She’d assisted her grandmother as Olive had attended to a number of men. This would be no different.
She managed to untie the old bandage without moving Tex too much, then she tossed the cloth on the floor to burn in the stove later. With that done, she placed the herb poultice against his side. Tex winced in his sleep, though Ravena wasn’t sure if it was from the heat, the herbs or the pain of her jostling.
“Almost done,” she murmured, as much to herself as to him.
She slid her arm and the bandage behind him before grabbing it with her other hand. Leaning forward, she made sure she had the cloth in the right position.
Holding him like this, in a half embrace, she felt beckoned to recall memories she’d buried long ago. Carefree days of strolling with Tex across the hills, walking hand in hand. Or kissing him as they stood beside the stream. Or speaking of their shared future. Those were the days when her world had been bright and happy, full of love and promise. She had Tex, her grandfather and the orphans.
Ravena suddenly felt Tex tense. Had she hurt him? She flicked her gaze to his and gave a soft yelp when she found his blue eyes watching her rather lucidly. Her cheeks burned with mortification as she scrambled away from him. “Y-you fell out of bed earlier. So I thought I’d just change your...um...your bandage.”
The barest hint of amusement lit his face. “If you wanted to hug me,” he said, his voice low and scratchy, “you could’ve just asked.”
She leveled a glare at him, which only served to coax a faint smile from his lips. “I wished no such thing.” Though she did feel some relief that he didn’t seem angry at her for intervening when he’d told her not to.
“You can go ahead and finish.” He closed his eyes, but now she had to complete the task with him awake.
Reminding herself she’d left her feelings for Tex in the past, as he’d clearly done with her, she set her chin and approached him again. She grabbed the ends of the bandage as hastily as she could, then she proceeded to tie them securely over the poultice.
“There,” she announced, a bit breathlessly as she tugged his nightshirt back into place. Hopefully Tex didn’t notice. “Since you’re awake, you can have some of the tea I made.”
“All right.”
Her hands were trembling so that she rattled the teacup and saucer as she lifted them off the tray. Sitting on the very edge of the bed, she brought the cup to Tex’s mouth. He took a swallow, but his face contorted in surprise and his eyes appeared to water.
“What’s in that skunk brew?” he coughed out, pounding a hand to his chest.
Ravena shook her head with impatience. He was as bad as one of the younger boys. “It will help you heal. Now, drink up.” She hoisted the cup again, half expecting him to clamp his lips shut like Mark did. But he didn’t.
Even though he looked wary, he obediently drank several more swallows. “Enough,” he wheezed after a minute.
“Try to get some more rest,” she said as she stood. “You need it.” After scooping up the soiled bandage, she gathered everything onto the tray. Exhaustion, and a healthy dose of apprehension and discomfort, pushed her toward the door. If she hurried, she could snatch a few more hours of sleep before it was time to start breakfast.
“Ravena,” Tex called as she reached the door.
She blew out a sigh and turned to face him. “Yes?”
“Thank you for this.” He motioned to his side. “But you said one night and I won’t stay longer than that.”
Gripping the edges of the tray until they dug into her palms, she willed the words she wanted to say to reach her lips. Yes, Tex, you have to leave. I have enough concerns right now, without worrying about you and the fragileness of my heart.
Whatever she said, there was no going back after this moment. She didn’t understand why he’d come to the farm after all these years. But he was here—and she had the power to hold him to his word and make him leave or extend his time.
She shut her eyes for a brief moment, praying for guidance. The smallest seed of peace, so delicate it might be uprooted in time, germinated inside her. A whisper that everything would be all right.
Please help me trust You, God.
Opening her eyes, she peered straight at Tex, her head and heart pounding in unison. “I’m changing our agreement. You may stay until you’re well.”
Chapter Three
Even after her conversation with Tex about staying as long as he needed, Ravena still harbored a secret hope that she would find him remarkably recovered when she looked in on him the next morning. But that hope was obliterated when she found him sweltering with fever again, his sleeping form shifting restlessly beneath his blankets. He didn’t respond to her placing her hand on his forehead or calling his name.
“How come he still looks like he’s half-dead?” Mark asked. He and Luke watched from the open doorway.
Ravena frowned as she checked Tex’s wound. “Because he’s very sick.” It was time for a new poultice. “Hurry and eat, boys, so you can make it to church on time. I need to stay here and help care for Mr. Beckett, so Jacob will be in charge. Please mind him.”
“Ah, Miss Ravena,” Mark whined, “do we have to go?”
Fighting a small smile, she guided the boys down the hallway. She could understand why having a stranger on the farm, especially one who’d been shot, held more fascination for the two than singing hymns and hearing Bible stories. And if Tex was still here tomorrow, the boys weren’t going to be thrilled about leaving him to attend school either.
Their help might come in handy if she kept them home. It would be difficult to tend to Tex, see to her regular tasks around the farm and try to finish the plowing too. At the thought of all of her responsibilities, Ravena felt a familiar weight settle onto her shoulders.
Then she recalled something her grandfather had often said. “Love, stability and education are the keys to success for any child.” And she was doing all in her power to provide those, even by herself these past three months. She couldn’t let this obstacle derail her.
She straightened her drooping back and willed away her worries. The children would go to church today and school tomorrow. Somehow a way would work out to care for everything and everyone. It had to, because she would not give up on fulfilling her grandfather’s wishes for these orphans or for the other four he’d hoped to bring home as well.
After sending off all five of the children to church, she made a new herbal poultice for Tex’s wound and some more tea. She found him still sleeping fitfully, so she chose to forego waking him. He could drink the tea later. She half expected him to wake as she redressed his side, but unlike the night before, he didn’t open his eyes or make conversation with her.
Ravena also wet a cloth for his forehead. His agitation eased as she placed the cool fabric against his sweaty brow. “It’s Quincy,” he mumbled, when she stepped back. “He’s still out there...”
The man certainly had an affinity for his horse. Too bad he hadn’t displayed as much affection for those people he’d left behind.
She felt immediate guilt at the thought. In many ways, life had been more difficult for Tex and Tate than for her, what with their father always gambling, then up and leaving the family when the boys were only nine. They’d struggled for years to make it through, only to lose their mother in death when they were young adults. And then, there’d been the fight that had lost them to each other. Had they reconciled in the years since she’d seen them last? She hoped so...but she also doubted it. She knew firsthand just how stubborn those Beckett brothers could be.
“Your horse is just fine,” she soothed, placing a tentative hand on the sleeve of his nightshirt. Jacob had fed the animal along with their two horses and the cow that morning. “You can see for yourself once you’re well.”
Leaving the tea behind should he wake, she started for the door when she noticed the pile of things in the corner, including Tex’s bloodied shirt from the day before. It was a pity his new clothes might be permanently ruined. Perhaps if she washed them now they could still be salvaged.
She loaded the crook of her arm with his shirt, jacket and trousers. Underneath the clothes sat two saddlebags. Perhaps they held more clothing in need of washing. She threw back the flap of one of the bags. It contained a holster and gun and a few pieces of jerky. No clothes though. She opened the other bag and a startled cry spilled from her lips to find it half filled with neat bundles of cash. Surely there had to be several hundred dollars inside.
Closing up the bag, she stood and crept from the room, her mind churning as she set about boiling water for the washing. Why would Tex be carrying that much money inside his saddlebag? What line of work did he do to earn so much? Certainly not farming or ranching.
She still hadn’t puzzled out any answers by the time the water was ready. Pushing the new questions to the back of her mind, along with the old ones regarding Tex, Ravena threw herself into the washing. Her hands were soon pink and wrinkled from the warm water.
Sunshine poured down on her bare head as she hung Tex’s clothes on the line to dry. Her task complete, her thoughts went back to the money sitting upstairs. There was so much she could do if such a sum belonged to her. She could hire several farm hands and someone to finish the new house. There would be enough to feed, clothe and care for more orphans, including the four brothers in Boise.
Yet that money wasn’t hers. It was Tex’s and she wouldn’t be beholden to him by asking for financial help or a personal loan. He’d turned his back on her, unlike Tate who she suspected of being the benefactor behind the mysterious envelopes that had come to the farm over the years. Each was addressed to her and contained a helpful sum of money.
The children returned from church a short time later, all talking at once about the experience. Except for Ginny. She silently jumped in to help Ravena finish preparing lunch, as usual. The simple act calmed Ravena’s troubled heart and thoughts, at least for the moment.
Once everyone had eaten, she sent the children outside to play. It was probably time to check on Tex again and see if he was awake and hungry. She prepared a fresh pot of tea and a bowl of broth, then carried the full tray upstairs. She secretly hoped to find Tex still sleeping, so she wouldn’t have to make conversation. The less they had to speak the better.
Unfortunately his gaze followed her movement into the room. “Morning,” he said, his voice rough.
Ravena added the untouched teacup from earlier to the tray and placed it on the bureau. “I think you mean good afternoon.”
He eyed the window, where the curtains were still drawn. “What time is it?”
“After lunch. Are you hungry?” He’d declined eating anything the night before.
“A little.” The lopsided grin he gave her, even with how ill and pale he looked, still made her pulse sputter as it had in the old days.
Steeling herself against the reaction, she helped him sit up and placed the tray across his lap. “Can you manage or do you need some help?”
He eyed the spoon and bowl. “I think I can handle it.” She watched to make sure he got the spoon to his mouth, though her gaze lingered on his face, even after he’d swallowed and dipped into the bowl a second time. If he hadn’t run off eight years ago, if he’d come back for her as he’d promised, he would be her husband and the sight of him and his tussled hair just after he woke every day would be wonderfully familiar.
Needing air, Ravena crossed to the window. She drew back the curtains and wrenched the sill upward. A nice breeze washed over her flushed cheeks. She could hear Mark, Luke and Fanny laughing below. “You don’t need to worry about your horse,” she said as a way to end the awkward silence.
“I’m not.” Tex chuckled. “I imagine he’s in good hands.”
She crossed her arms and leaned her forehead against the glass. “Your sleeping self doesn’t seem to believe it. You keep asking about him.”
“What do you mean? Was I talking in my sleep?”
“Yes, you kept mentioning your horse Quincy,” she said, turning around.
His entire upper body went very still, the spoon pausing halfway to his lips. “My horse Quincy?”
Ravena rolled her eyes. “Yes, Tex. Your horse named Quincy
.”
He seemed to snap out of whatever stupor he’d been in. “The man at the livery said the horse’s name is Brutus. I kind of figured I’d keep that.”
“Brutus?” she repeated, confused. “Then who is Quincy?”
Lowering his gaze to the tray, he sampled some more broth before answering. “He’s a...an acquaintance of mine. You might say we had a disagreement over some property. Not sure how to reconcile it.”
Something in his words and his neutral expression struck her as odd. “Must have been some disagreement if you keep mumbling about it in your sleep.” She regarded him with a level look, but he only smiled. That slow, boyish smile she used to never tire of seeing.
“This is delicious, even for broth. But then you always were a good cook.”
“Is that why you’re back?” The words burst forth as irritation resurrected the heat on her face. He wasn’t being honest with her; she could tell. He probably didn’t think she could remember the signs, but she could. The casual demeanor, the deliberate smile, the shift in the conversation’s topic. What was he keeping from her this time?
Tex set down his spoon. “You know that isn’t why I’m back.”
“No, I don’t. You show up after all these years, without sending a single letter the entire time, and you’re injured and you have all this money stashed away inside your saddlebag.” She waved a hand toward the corner. “Did you rob a bank or something, Tex? Why are you here?”
The little bit of color he’d regained bled away, making his blue eyes stand out starkly. Eyes that were wide with shock. “Wh-what did you say?”
Was he really that surprised that she’d lose her temper? Surely he knew he had it coming. She threw her arms in the air. “I said why are you here, now, after all this time.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed, though he hadn’t sampled another spoonful of broth. “I went to the old farm, to see if...if Tate...was there.”
So the two had never reconciled after all. Even in her frustration, Ravena felt a measure of sadness for both of them. “Tate stayed another few months after you left, then he sold the place. Didn’t you write him?”